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The movie opens with videotaped audition interviews of the dancers (seen on an old TV), whoâ€™ve been assembled in a troupe thatâ€™s scheduled to tour France and the U.S. Theyâ€™re all in their early twenties, with very rad hair, and theyâ€™re a racially and sexually diverse crew, bursting, in different ways (some sullen, some punchy), with hipster street confidence. The film then cuts to a dizzily choreographed dance sequence set in a dank rehearsal space (it looks like an empty wedding reception hall), set to throbbing â€™90s EDM and photographed in a single hypnotically unblinking head-on shot.

It may be one of the most enthralling dance sequences youâ€™ve ever seen. I donâ€™t quite know how to describe what it is these dancers do, but theyâ€™re like krumpers or wackers or voguers doing flex dancing at astonishingly fluid speeds, so that their arms seem to be stretching out of their joints and rolling over their torsos. No one pose is held for more than a split second; theyâ€™re like living Cubist paintings. And though each of the dancers has a highly personal style of gymnastic flair, what they all express is the energy of the new world: sexually equal, driven by an aggression thatâ€™s splendidly uncontained.